Murder and Mythology
by AllesandraQuartermaine
Summary: A series of murders where the murder weapons are a bit baffling to some has Lestrade and his team frustrated and at wits end. Lestrade has no choice to call in Sherlock. But what no one expected were the surprises Sherlock would bring with him.
1. Prologue: A Deadly Discovery

**Title:Mythology And Murder- A Mystery In the A Different Take Universe**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Original Character, plus an appearance or two of Mycroft Holmes and Anthea**

**Genre: Humor, Friendship, Mystery, Drama,**

**Warnings: Murder, Violence, Allusions To Past Drug Abuse,**

**Author's Notes: This story is set in the A Different Take Universe I have written. The three main installments are _A Scandal In Belgravia, The Hounds Of Baskerville, and Reichenbach Falls_. This one here takes place after ASIB.**

**Summary: A series of murders where the murder weapons are a bit baffling to some has Lestrade and his team frustrated and at wits end. Lestrade has no choice to call in Sherlock. But what no one expected, were the surprises Sherlock would bring with him.**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue: A Deadly Discovery<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Date: September 29th, 2010<strong>

**Location: A Gallery In Central London**

**Time: 5 pm**

* * *

><p>Ghouls, the lot of them. How can one feel so much delight in a death? It was reminding her how they were all over those serial suicides in the winter.<p>

"Bugger.. Julie, can you see what's taking Mitch so long with that bloody statue?"

"Most likely taking a bit of a nap," she says distractedly, her attention still on the article.

"Will you stop reading that rubbish and go see what's taking Mitch so long."

"They found the latest body two days ago," she answers, setting the newspaper down though.

"And like usual, the police had no ruddy idea," the burly man next to her says with irritation.

"Their doing the best they can," she counters.

"Right. I have to finish this stage before Morgan comes breathing fire."

Julie rolls her eyes at Ryan's grumbling and heads to the back door of the gallery. She swipes her identification card which opens the door and she starts walking down the hallway... it's quiet and dark and creepy.

She never liked the store room, it always unnerved her the few times she had to come back here.

She pauses halfway to the storeroom when she hears a crash. Then the sound of Mitch, the other worker she was sent to find, yelling.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? What is wrong you? Don't-" His words are cut off suddenly and Julie hears nothing but what sounds like a groan and some thumps.

Julie hears a laugh then. That's it for as she runs back to the front of the gallery, screaming for Ryan.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: September 29th, 2010<strong>

**Location: A Gallery In Central London**

**Time: 6 pm**

* * *

><p>Lestrade stares at the sight in front of him.<p>

A man named Mitch Harkum dead on the floor.

With a trident pinning him to said floor.

His blood used as a message.

Just like the other three victims; Paulette Dystrom, Lyle Hansen, and Ingrid Everheart.

Bloody fantastic.

The papers are going to have a field day. He hates doing press conferences.

Members of the art world murdered by their art.

Not just any art. No, it had to be more than that. They all had projects dealing with the world of Greek and Roman Mythology.

Each one died by a weapon that was supposed to be a God's. Then, either on the wall or the floor, a message written in the blood of the victim. In Greek.

It was their luck that the only people that knew how to translate Greek told them that this was an ancient dialect and one they had no experience with.

Each death was getting more and more attention by the bloody media. His DCI was starting to get up arse about it too.

Yesterday's press conference resulted in four mass texts from Sherlock Holmes.. once again Donovan got on his case about that.

The only decent thing that can come from this latest murder is in the form of a witness. She didn't see anything, but she heard.

It's a start at least.

Lestrade sighs and gets out his mobile.

"Sir?" He hears Donovan asks sharply. He looks up to see her stepping away from Anderson and coming over to him.

"We need him," Lestrade says flatly. He scowls as she opens her mouth to argue. "I don't want to hear it. Go take care of the barricades please, help the officers keep the press back."

"Yes, sir," she says bitingly and stalks ahead.

Lestrade pinches the bridge of his nose, swallowing his pride as he waits for Holmes to answer.

Four rings later and that superior drawling voice answers. "Sherlock Holmes."


	2. The Signature

****Title:Mythology And Murder- A Mystery In the A Different Take Universe****

****Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Original Character, plus an appearance or two of Mycroft Holmes and Anthea****

****Genre: Humor, Friendship, Mystery, Drama,****

****Warnings: Murder, Violence, Allusions To Past Drug Abuse,****

****Author's Notes: This story is set in the A Different Take Universe I have written. The three main installemnts are _A Scandal In Belgravia, The Hounds Of Bakserville,_ and_Reichenbach Falls_. This one here takes place after _ASIB_.****

****Summary: A series of murders where the murder weapons are a bit baffling to some has Lestrade and his team frustrated and at wits end. Lestrade has no choice to call in Sherlock. But what no one expected were the surprises Sherlock would bring with him.****

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1-<strong>

**The Signature**

* * *

><p><strong>Date: September 29th, 2010<strong>

**Location: A Gallery In Central London**

**Time: 6:35 pm**

* * *

><p>Sherlock gets out of the taxi, and patiently waits for those ten seconds it takes for John to pay the cabbie and to get out.<p>

Most days it is ten seconds. Others can be twenty, depending on how much the fare costs.

The sound of the door shutting at the tenth second gets Sherlock moving. He spies Sgt Donovan at the barrier, lifting and lowering it. As usuaul her expression showing what she thinks of this, even though Sgt Donovan probably believes she is hiding it with a bored look.

She is not. She is failing admirably at that.

Her scowl comes around predictably when he and John approach.

"Hello Freak."

"Sergeant. Lestrade is in the back I suppose?"

She resentfully lifts up the tape. "Have your freakish fun," she drawls. Sherlock ducks under and hears Sgt Donovan ask John Watson "Still here I see."

He does not bother to listen to John's response as he enters the gallery.

"Someone likes Mythology," John comments as they walk past the... art.

"Someone apparently likes to kill those who are portraying mythological figures in art," Sherlock counters. He nods to Sgt Caswell who opens a door for him.

"Think it's as bad as the others?"

"Probably. Then again the papers can exxagerate," Sherlock says as they walk through the storage room. He knows they are getting closer as the sounds of the Yard doing their work reach them.

They come into a large back room, and Sherlock sees three people blocking his view of what must be the body.

_How annoying._

Sherlock spots the DI as one of them."Lestrade?"

The DI turns around, looking quite tired and harassed. "Ah, Sherlock, took you long enough."

"Traffic," Sherlock comments, half distracted by the partial view he has of the body. He goes to the table to get a pair of gloves, noticing John is putting on the blue jumper. When John isnearly done, he heads over to the body. But of course Anderson is there.

Then the idiot decides he must speak.

"I don't want you contaminating-"

"Oh I know what you don't want. I don't want you to voice your opinions because it might lower my IQ, but we cannot always get what we want," Sherlock interrupts the imbecile "If you are done, move out of the way, so I can do my job." And ignore whatever pathetic supposed findings you may have happened to come across.

Anderson stares at Sherlock and he notices that one hand is in a fist. Lestrade's barked "Anderson!" gets the man moving though.

Sherlock carefully steps past the crime scene tape to look at the body.

"His name is Mitch Oswalt. He was hired by Morgan Deschenes to set up her statues."

"And apparently he was killed by one of them," Sherlock says. He looks at the statue that is standing just a couple feet away and then at the murder weapon pinning the man to the ground.

"Poseidon's Trident," he murmurs. "When I am done, Lestrade, I need the files on the other murders sent to the flat."

"Right."

"Who found him?" Sherlock hears John asks Lestrade. Their conversation turns into a dull background noise as he starts to look over the dead body.

He crouches down, his eyes sweeping over the man.

_Laborer_, obviously from Lestrade's comment.

_Strong._

_Pale line on the ring finger. Divorced._

Smoker. Obvious from the slight smoke odor coming from him and of course...

Sherlock pulls out a pack of cigs from the pocket.

He finds the wallet. Flips through it.

_Two children...new photographs. Divorced, but sees his children. Joint custody._

Other details swim around in Sherlock's mind as the observations and deductions continue. When he finishes with the body he goes to the message.

He takes pictures of the message, as it is a dialect he is not familiar with. Then again he does not speak Greek, so he will need to find out what dialect of Greek this is first before working on translating.

"So far, we've had no luck getting any of the messages translated. All of them have said it's an ancient dialect. One they are not familiar with."

"I also doubt the Yard is willing to pay the money for a true translator from Greece," Sherlock says dryly as he stands. He frowns as he eyes the language written out before him once more. He is not liking the fact he does not know this dialect. The messages are pertinent to everything.

"So what have you got?"

Sherlock's focus moves from the unknown message to Lestrade. Time to of course lay out all the simple things and become annoyed with the Detective Inspector.

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Minutes Later<strong>

* * *

><p>Sherlock dumps the gloves into the bin as John takes off the jumper.<p>

"So what did the witness say?" Sherlock asks, giving time for John to be ready. He would not mind leaving now, but he is getting better at remembering John is not as fast as him.. well sometimes he is getting better at it.

"That she started coming back here, heard the victim yelling at someone, then she heard a thumping noise, most likely him being killed, and then a laugh. A creepy one in her words. She ran all the way back to the front. Didn't bother searching him out."

"Smart woman," John comments.

Sherlock decides to comment on that, knowing what is on his mind and the tip of his tongue would get a full glare from John. Plus it would make him irritated. Sherlock did not want to deal with it not. There are always better places and times to irritate John.

"Any theories, Sherlock?"

"Not enough data for a theory, except that the killer is apparently well educated, had to be to know that dialect he wrote... and apparently quite angry. Possibly delusional...Of course I need more data, so I need those files."

"I'm working on getting you copies."

"I don't want copies. I suppose if I have to, I can go to the Yard. I also need to go to the other crime scenes. You lot probably missed a few things."

Sherlock smirks at the look of frustration on Lestrade's features. The DI's team probably did, and he'll find what he needs.

"So while I must wait for your people to put the files together properly, and get access to the crime scenes, I'm going to look up this message and see what I can find out. Have a good night Lestrade. Call us when everything is available." With nothing else to say, Sherlock walks away, heading to the front.

"You really need to stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"You know what I'm referring to Sherlock."

Sherlock pushes open the door to go back into the gallery. "No point in prettying it up with nicer words. Lestrade would wonder about me if I did. He knew better than to keep me away from these fascinating deaths for so long... if he hadn't the latest victim would not have died."

"Mitch Oswalt."

Sherlock stops by a statue, taking a glance at it before turning back to John. He heard that tone... John's morals are coming out.

"I heard Lestrade say his name."

"Did you also hear him say he has-"

"Two children. One the age of thirteen, one right around ten. Both girls. Joint custody?"

John blinks. "So you did hear him?"

"No, I saw the pictures in his wallet. New pictures. Mother in them."

"Right. He was-"

"Thirty seven years old, one hundred and eight centimeters, and ninety kilograms."

"License?"

Sherlock smiles. Sometimes he catches on quite easily. "Yes." He smirks at Donovan who glares at him, then raises up the tape to let John go under first before he does so.

"Enjoying your evening, Sgt Donovan? Quite a nice night too."

"Freak," she mutters.

"A new deodorant too I see," he says in a low tone for only her to hear, and that earns him quite the fierce glare. Sherlock smirks and goes to the side of the curb.

"Taxi!" He calls out then turns to John.

"This is going to be a long night isn't it?"

"Do you have surgery in the morning, John?"

"No."

"Then make sure to drink lots of coffee at the Yard. It's horrible enough it may just keep you awake." Sherlock steps towards the taxi that stops and opens the door.

"Great," John says as he gets into the cab.

Sherlock breathes in, then exhales.

A case that has claimed his attention, a break from his constant searching for Moriarty. A needed one at that.

_Finally._

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Unknown<strong>

**Time: 7pm**

* * *

><p>The man watches the telly, sees the images of the soldiers going to and from that gallery. The scribe talking about the death of the blasphemer.<p>

He looks around his room, sees the weapons lying against the wall and his furniture, all calling to him. He rocks in his chair as he hears the chants, the calls of his name, the calls to do what needs to be done.

Calling to him to do destroy those whose defile their names.

To destroy the non believers.

He didn't take the trident.

Poseidon is angry he did not take the trident.

He has to make up for it...

_Another blasphemer must die._

_Must die._

_Must die._

_Honor us._

_Avenge us._

_Do what is right..._

_KILL THEM ALL!_

"SHUT UP!" The man bellows into the empty apartment.

The voices quiet, but the man winces at the horrible way he yelled at the Gods.

That was no way to treat those who have helped him. Helped him see the light and encourage him to defend their honor.

They are quiet now... but they will make him pay for it later.

The man goes back to watching the telly, seeing the soldiers in going to and from. He has seen them each time he has killed for the Gods. They are getting in the way.. but he cannot harm them.

The Gods demanded he do no harm to them. They are simply doing what society needs them to do, same with him.

A person goes by the screen and a shriek is heard in his mind.

The Gods are no longer quiet.

They are demanding his blood... that man's blood. A traitor to all.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Scotland Yard<strong>

**Time: 9 pm**

* * *

><p>Sherlock looks over the photographs of Paulette Dyson. He ignores the age of the woman, the obvious facts that spill forward. He will go over them later to get an idea of her. But for now he is looking for something else.<p>

Paulette Dyson. The first victim. The gallery owner was renting out her gallery to an artist. Said artist found the owner... Speared.

Right to the wall.

And according to the report lying next to the photographs, it was the spear of Athena. Well the spear that was supposed to be in the hands of the statue that had been standing just a few feet away from the victim.

The photograph Sherlock is looking for, he finds after sorting through them all. The message.

This message was also written in her blood. And as he can see, compared with the latest victim, it is the not the same message. But the last line was identical.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Which file do you have?"

"Ahhh.. Lyle Hansen."

"Pass me the photograph of the message."

He hears Johns shuffle through the photographs before two are set beside him. Sherlock turns his attention away from the scene of Dyson's death to focus on Hansen's.

Hansen, killed by multiple arrows from the quiver of Eros.

The God of Love killed a man who had multiple girlfriends.

There was a message in that all of itself.

But right now the only message Sherlock that he was finding particularly intriguing all was currently written the man's blood.

He reads the words... then picks up the other photographs and pins them to the board next to him.

Sherlock goes to the last file, this one of Ingrid Everheart, needing the other one to complete it. Ingrid Everheart was drowned in wine, surrounded by the symbols of Dionysis, the God of Wine. Also of other things of course, but no time to go into that.

A professional wine seller.. drowned in her own product. Another message in itself.

Sherlock mentally shakes his head at the meanings of these deaths. He imagines if he goes over Mitch Oswalt's death there would be something that would make a connection in the manner of how he died.

Which he will find once he works out what he is looking for. Right now that takes precedence. One detail at a time.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock does not answer his flat mate, finding the message written in Ms Everheart's blood, then pinning it to the wall wit the others.

After reading all of them, he smiles.

"Sherlock?"

"All the messages. They are not the same. " Sherlock points to each one. "Except the last line. All of them have the same last line."

"All right..."

"Don't you see John? The last line is his signature. He's signing them. Each message is personal, about the victim I imagine. But he puts himself into the message at the end. It has to be his signature. Once I find the right dialect-"

"You'll know, in a way, who you may be looking for?"

Sherlock smirks. Another connection. "Exactly."


	3. Sherlock's Surprise

**Title:Mythology And Murder- A Mystery In the A Different Take Universe**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Original Character, plus an appearance or two of Mycroft Holmes and Anthea**

**Genre: Humor, Friendship, Mystery, Drama,**

**Warnings: Murder, Violence, Allusions To Past Drug Abuse,**

**Author's Notes: This story is set in the A Different Take Universe I have written. The three main installemnts are bA Scandal In Belgravia, The Hounds Of Bakserville,/b andbReichenbach Falls/b. This one here takes place after bASIB/b.**

**Summary: A series of murders where the murder weapons are a bit baffling to some has Lestrade and his team frustrated and at wits end. Lestrade has no choice to call in Sherlock. But what no one expected were the surprises Sherlock would bring with him.b**

**Chapter Notes: If you see this: ** **OoOoOoOoOoOoO**** in this chapter and any other later chapters, it means pov change in the same scene.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

**Sherlock's Surprise**

* * *

><p><strong>Date: October 1st, 2010<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker St **

**Time: 2 am**

* * *

><p>Sherlock shoves aside the book on Greek dialects, irritated. So far, two days in, and the only thing he could do was narrow down the dialect to three possibilities. But all the books and websites he could find had only the basic information on them.<p>

He and John located some professors that taught Greek but, they were no help at all.

So far, no one else has died.

In a way, that was good.

For Sherlock, that was bad. Another body, perhaps one with more information, could help.

Actually, finding a way to translate these messages would be far more of a help. Translate the message, and he could learn so much about the killer.

Sherlock pushes out of his chair and goes over to his violin, needing to play something. As he opens the case, his mobile buzzes.

"Let that be Xandra," Sherlock mutters, hoping it is his Greek contact in the States. He had left her a few messages the past couple of days. Of course, it could be a bit difficult... she could be in a middle of a case for the DEA.

He checks the text and scowls.

Not Xandra.

His irritating brother.

He reads the text.

iIt started today. Ends the fifth. Stopping by may actually help with your usual trivia. Do show up. Mycroft Holmes. /i

Sherlock sets his mobile down and takes out his violin and bow.

Time for some Bach.. that may help his thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: October 1st,2010<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: 1 pm**

* * *

><p>"So the trident's three prongs pierced his lung, middle of his chest and his heart," Lestrade tells Sherlock as he glances at the other text that his brother sent him. "He died within seconds really."<p>

"Did he feel anything?" Sherlock hears John asks.

"Maybe for a second. But the medical examiner said he would have gone into shock, so he probably didn't feel much after that second. No time to."

"Whoever did this has to be strong," Lestrade adds after a moment of silence. "That trident weighed at almost fourteen kilograms, and it was attached to the statue. According to the artist, you had to have some strength to remove it from the hand."

"So we're looking for someone like what Mitch Oswalt was," John suggests as Sherlock goes through some applications on his mobile, ignoring the buzz on his mobile. Another text from his brother to ignore. "A laborer."

"Not always a laborer," Sherlock counters. "Could be someone that simply works out and is strong. Not enough data yet to be completely sure." He checks his watch. "Ah time to go. John, you can stay here if you like or come along to meet with the Greek translator I was able to get in touch with."

"I'll coming with you," John states, although Sherlock hears the silent 'So the translator doesn't kill you if you annoy him.'

"Still haven't found out what all those bloody messages are saying?" Lestrade asks curiously.

"I narrowed it down to three dialects, unfortunately, I cannot do much more than that as I do not know Greek."

"Imagine that," Sherlock hears Sgt Donovan drawl in a low tone as she passes them.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: October 1st, 2010<strong>

**Location: Convention Center**

**Time: 1:30 pm**

* * *

><p>An older woman with pale skin, black hair and blue eyes stares at the billboard by the convention room that was secured for her. Her lecture and book signing was to start in three hours. She moves her attention from the billboard, then to the room currently being set up with the chairs and the podium she will be standing on.<p>

"Olivia!" She calls out the name to her currently not at the moment visible assistant.

However, she does hear rushing footsteps a few seconds later, and the redhead comes to a stop next to her.

"Apologies Ms Hadresham," she says quickly. "I was just confirming a few things. So, everything has been worked out," she hands the itinerary for the lecture and book signing.

"First, you'll do a reading of the third chapter of your book, then take questions about the book, before going into the topic that you chose. Mythology and how it influences the media. Then some more questions for twenty minutes, then of course the book signing-"

"An hour and a half. I know, Olivia, I can read."

The assistant flushes. "Right."

Ms Hadresham takes her mobile out of her pocket, and checks to see if there any messages on it. Only a text of course, but the news on it was hardly surprising.

"Bad news?" Olivia asks quietly.

Ms Hadresham shuts her mobile. "No, just news I expected. All right, where is the room with the food? I am starving. If I must listen to Henry Culpepper drone on and on about things that I find interesting but, he makes dreadfully dull, then I prefer to do it with a full stomach and a glass of wine."

bTwenty Minutes Later/b

"Any idea where your boss is, Katrina?" Ms Hadresham asks in an annoyed tone.

The personal assistant to the most egotistical idiot in the circles of Mythology professors and writers looked quite harried.

"He went to have a quick chat with one of his students, he apparently needed some advice on his thesis."

"That quick chat has turned into a long one Katrina."

"I know, and he's not answering his mobile."

Ms Hadresham sighs. "Which room? I'll go drag him out."

"The conference room with the red door."

The older woman nods and turns to her assistant. "Stay here."

"Yes, Ms Hadresham."

The older woman leaves the room and walks through the lobby and down the hall, passing at least two dozen people before arriving at said conference room. She pauses by the door.

"Henry Culpepper?"

No voices. Nothing.

Maybe the idiot was taking a nap, bored to death by his student and his subject.

She tests the door handle, finding it's not locked. She jerks open the door and steps into the darkened room.

"Oh come on, Henry, this is no time for a nap," she snaps and feels for the light switch on the wall and switches it on.

She blinks at the sight before her, and then automatically turns the light off.

Ms Hadresham waits ten seconds and turns the light back on.

The body of Henry Culpepper, was lying on the conference tabled, pinned by...

A lightning bolt?

Ms Hadresham sighs. Then she spots a message, written in blood on the wall.

"Well," she says out loud in a matter of fact tone, "this is definitely not good."

* * *

><p><strong>Date: October 1st, 2010<strong>

**Location: Convention Center**

**Time: 2:45 pm**

* * *

><p>"So who is she?" Sgt Donovan asks as Sgt Caswell comes up to her and Lestrade. All three of them look back at the stylish, older woman who doesn't even look rattled at finding a body, talk to one of the other officers.<p>

"Rowena Hadresham. One of participants in the lectures here for the five day conference. She came looking for Henry Culpepper because he was late to start his lecture." Sgt Caswell turns to Lestrade. "I called Sherlock, he's on his way. He and the doctor should be here in a few minutes."

Lestrade nods and looks back inside the conference room, at the older man now dead. "A lightning bolt. This is just..."

"Insane. And so far no one can confirm if they've seen someone here walking around with a lightning bolt made out of.. well we'll find out when it gets to the lab."

"Take photos of the message," Lestrade tells Sgt Caswell. "Donovan, the barrier. Keep it secure. Let Sherlock by when he arrives," he adds, ignoring her scowl. The DI turns and walks up to the older woman.

"Ms Hadresham?"

Sharp blue eyes meet his. An odd feeling of familiarity comes over him. He never met this woman before. "Who might you be, sir?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," he shows his identification to the older woman, and he notices a considerable coolness in her eyes. "You found the body?"

"Yes, as I have said three times now," she says coolly.

"Did you do anything after? Enter the room more, check his pulse.."

"What would be the point in checking his pulse? He's dead, that was clearly obvious," She says in a tone that Lestrade recognizes as 'you're being thick'. "I rang up my assistant, Olivia Hamm, and told her to call the police. I then shut off the light, and stepped back, closing the door. I waited until you lot showed up then."

"Do you know why he was in this conference room?"

"His assistant Katrina told me that a student of his, he still teaches, came to him. Wanted some advice on his thesis, and they apparently went to this conference room to talk." She holds up a hand. "Want any more information you'll have to get it from Katrina. I never saw the student, I was somewhere else in this place at the time he left to go talk to him."

Just then his walkie crackles, Sgt Donovan's voice coming over the line.

"Freak's here, and his doctor."

Ms Hadresham raises an eyebrow. "How professional," the older woman says. Her tone of voice so cold that Lestrade thinks the temperature lowered a few degrees.

Lestrade winces. "Apologies.. it's our consultant. He..brings out her worst."

"I see that."

Lestrade makes a mental note to tell Donovan to stop referring to Sherlock as that over the walkies. He can't get her to stop saying it to the man's face, but he can get her to stop saying it on the walkies.

* * *

><p><strong>OoOoOoOoOoOoO<strong>

* * *

><p>Sherlock strides past the barrier, John behind him as they walk down the hall.<p>

"This place must be a playground for the killer," John mutters. "I counted at least six or seven symbols that refer to Mythological figures, and there are tons of experts on the subject here. This would literally be a playground for him."

"Yes," Sherlock drawls, passing a uniform currently questioning a dark haired woman.

As he passes them, the woman's gaze meets his, raises an eyebrow. Sherlock nods shortly to the woman and then continues on to the entrance of the conference room. He comes to a stop at the sight of the latest victim pinned to a table.

"Is that a-"

"Lightning bolt." Sherlock supplies. "Creative. And the Zues Statue that is placed by the lecture room for Henry Culpepper is missing said lightning bolt."

"How did you-"

"I noticed it as I was passing the rooms," Sherlock interrupts Lestrade's dull question. "So this is Henry Culpepper?"

"Yes. According to Ms Haversham, she came searching for him when he wound up being late to his own lecture. Found him like this."

Sherlock notices John looking behind them.

"She doesn't look rattled," John comments.

"No.. she's been quite collected about the whole thing."

Sherlock looks at the message on the wall. The last line identical as expected, identical.

"Did your Greek translator pan out, Sherlock?"

"No," Sherlock says, his irritation rising. "He apparently does not work with this type of dialect. Who knew it could be this difficult to find someone that can translate ancient languages?"

"The killer," John says bluntly.

"It's not that difficult," a feminine voice drawls a few feet behind them.

Sherlock closes his eyes, knowing that John's attention and Lestrade's attention are now on the speaker. He turns and opens his eyes, to see the witness giving them all a look.

"Ma'am?"

"Don't call me ma'am," she says firmly. "The message is obviously written in the dialect of Locrian Greek. It was spoken by the Locrians in Locris, Central Greece. By the way, your killer is a bit delusional."

"Ms Hadresham-" Lestrade comes closer. "Are you telling me that you know what the message is saying? That you know this dialect?"

"Yes, she is," Sherlock speaks up. "Otherwise how would she know that the killer is delusional?"

"Wild guess?" Lestrade retorts.

Sherlock smirks and leans against the wall. Oh this is going to be interesting.

"Not a wild guess," she says firmly. "The last line of the message says that he is the messenger, Hermes, killing those who defile the Gods. I think that would say he's delusional, Detective Inspector."

"She knows what she's talking about, this is her area," Sherlock says. John gives him a quizzical look then. Sherlock smirks.

"Thank you Sherlock."

"Your welcome."

"You two know each other?" John and Lestrade ask at the same time.

"Quite well," Sherlock drawls. "Either way, Detective Inspector, she's one of the leading experts in the matter of Mythology, Greek would be one of them, and is quite well versed in the ancient dialects as you can see."

"I was a professor for twenty years, and I made it a point to learn the dialects as I had to go over several ancient texts and artifacts as well, before I started writing full time," she says. "If you need a reference for my credentials, ask any of the speakers here, they will vouch for me, or simply ask Sherlock. He can vouch for me as you heard him do so."

"Well thank you, your help would be appreciated in translating the texts," Lestrade says, sounding quite grateful. Sherlock smiles, and briefly wonders how much longer the DI will be.

"If you don't mind my asking, perhaps you two can tell us how you two know each other?" Lestrade adds as John comes to stand next to Sherlock, showing a text on his mobile from Mycroft.

No need to reply to it now.

"Ah, Lestrade, I can tell you," Sherlock speaks up. "Hadresham is her professional name, her full name is Rowena Hadresham Holmes." He pauses. "My mother."

Oh how he loves the sound of shell shocked silence.


	4. Unfortunate Timing Of Words

**Title: Mythology And Murder- A Mystery In the A Different Take Universe**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Original Character, plus an appearance or two of Mycroft Holmes and Anthea**

**Genre: Humor, Friendship, Mystery, Drama,**

**Warnings: Murder, Violence, Allusions To Past Drug Abuse,**

**Author's Notes: This story is set in the A Different Take Universe I have written. The three main installemnts are bA Scandal In Belgravia, The Hounds Of Bakserville,/b andbReichenbach Falls/b. This one here takes place after bASIB/b.**

**Summary: A series of murders where the murder weapons are a bit baffling to some has Lestrade and his team frustrated and at wits end. Lestrade has no choice to call in Sherlock. But what no one expected were the surprises Sherlock would bring with him.**

**Apologies to all for the lateness. Real life can be quite a hassle**. **Thanks to everyone who has read and followed this story. I hope you all are enjoying it.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

**Unfortunate Timing Of Words**

* * *

><p><strong>Date: October 1st, 2010<strong>

**Location: Conference Room In Convention Center**

**Time: A bit past three**

* * *

><p>Well this is interesting...<p>

John looks between the Detective Inspector, Sherlock and the woman Sherlock just introduced as... as his mother. Sherlock looks amused, the DI looks stunned, the woman- er Sherlock's mum, looks a little amused herself.

Really looking at her John can see the resemblence between the two of them. Physically definitely. The pale blue eyes, the pale skin, the black hair. She's slender as well, but not unhealthily skinny like Sherlock.

"Everything will be further explained Lestrade," Sherlock speaks up after a few moments, "but I need a couple minutes with the body first. So.. if you do not have any objections-"

"Ah, yes," Lestrade speaks up then, "There's another conference room we can go to. Uh Ms Holmes, I mean-"

"Ms Holmes will be just fine," she says before looking at John. He notices the curiosity in her eyes. "I'm sure a spare conference room will be just fine."

Lestrade nods and begins to escort her out, saying something to a Sgt that's nearby and he nods coming to stand by the door.

"John, go on with the two of them."

"You sure?"

Sherlock nods as his attention moves from the conversation to the body. John knows he won't be able to get anything else out of him until he's done. John just nods to the Sgt standing guard and hurries over to the Detective Inspector and Ms Holmes as they are about to enter an empty conference room.

"So you're saying that the man signed that message as Hermes?"

"Hermes was considered the messenger of the Gods," Ms Holmes says, her tone of voice so matching Sherlock when he has to explain things to Lestrade that John has to do a double check to make sure it's not Sherlock. "So the killer considers himself a messenger."

"Hell of a message he's sending," John mutters. He hears her chuckle.

"What message would that be?"

The stare that John sees come from Ms Holmes says that Lestrade is being especially thick today. Even John notices that, but he has the manners not to say so.

Unlike a certain consulting detective.

"I think it would be a message of death, Detective Inspector," She drawls. "I mean it's quite obvious isn't it? I'm really not seeing this so called intelligence that Sherlock says that you possess if you're going to continue to asking idiotic questions like that."

And his mother apparently. The tone of voice she has nearly matched Sherlock's. It's uncanny.

Lestrade opens his mouth, then closes it. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he opens his mouth again to speak. The door opens to the conference room cutting him off. Sherlock walks in and starts to rattle off facts about the deceased, and the room he was found in.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: October 1st, 2010<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: Evening**

* * *

><p>"We have another consultant?"<p>

Lestrade ignores the annoyance in Sgt Donovan's voice. "Yes. Ms Hadresham. She knows the dialect and said she would be willing to translate the rest of the messages once she is done with her lecture and book signing."

"Who's bringing her?"

"Sherlock."

"The Freak? Are you sure you want that? What if he hacks her off so much she decides not to help?"

I doubt that will happen.

"Stop the worrying, Sergeant and just simply help me organize everything here, Sherlock left it all in a state I can't make out."

He hears the Sgt grumble. For once he's glad he didn't fill Donovan in on everything about the woman.

Lestrade is still trying to wrap his head around the fact.

Sherlock has a mother.

Well it's obvious the man has a mother.. he had to be born somehow. It's just...

Something that takes some getting used to.

But that brief time he spent with her at the conference center, he could certainly see where Sherlock gets his attitude. Her is certainly sharp and blunt, but Sherlock's has a brutality to his words where his mother does not. Sherlock Holmes is his own unique persona, but Lestrade can clearly see where his persona had been influenced.

"So this whackjob considers himself a god?"

"Hermes. Messenger."

"Fantastic," Donovan mutters. "Just what we need. So this Hadresham knows the dialect? I suppose she also knows a bit about Mythology since she was scheduled to do a lecture there."

"She taught Celtic, Welsh, Greek, Roman, Norse Mythology at Oxford for twenty odd years, publishing the occasional book, before going into writing full time. She's considered one of the foremost experts on the matter," Lestrade rattles off what Sherlock's mother told him before going to lecture.

"Quite the calm witness," Donovan says casually. "Didn't even seem upset when she found the body."

"From the sounds of it, Mr Culpepper was not well liked, but she also doesn't seem like the type to let things rattle her much."

Like mother, like son.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: October 1st, 2010<strong>

**Location: On the way to Scotland Yard**

**Time: Evening**

* * *

><p>Johnsneaks another peek at Sherlock's Mum as they all sit quietly in the cab. The two of them attended her lecture and stayed during her book signing, and this was the first time he got to witness a proper interaction between the two of them.<p>

The ride had been quiet so far, Ms Hadresham, er Ms Holmes, erm..John wasn't sure what to properly call her, concentrated mainly on her mobile as did Sherlock.

"I am assuming Mycroft informed you of my presence, Sherlock," his mum speaks up suddenly.

"He did." Sherlock answers, not looking up from his mobile.

"And?" Ms Holmes glances at John and then turns to her son.

"I was going to stop by one of your lectures before you left."

"Really?"

Sherlock sighs one of his patented Must We Do This Now? sighs.

"Yes, really, Mummy."

John shakes his head slightly, finding it strange to hear Sherlock say the word Mummy. Anyone else he wouldn't find it strange, but this is.. this is Sherlock.

"Yes, well, apparently it has to take a murder for us to see each other. Since you didn't come to last years Christmas dinner."

"I had a case."

"You always have a case."

John catches the slight smile from Sherlock and John's throat closes up a little when Ms Holmes blue eyes meet his.

"Well, since my son hasn't bothered to do the proper introductions, you must be John Watson."

"I am, Mrs.. Ms Holmes..."

"Ms Holmes," she interrupts.

"No need to do introductions when it's quite obvious when both know\ who the other is."

"It's call a social normalcy, Sherlock," Ms Holmes drawls.

"Dull," he mutters.

John grins at the smile that appears on Ms Holmes, and then she pats her son's hand before turning her attention to him. "So, I'm told you are a doctor. And a former solider. Came back from Afghanistan last year correct?"

John swallows. "Ah, yes, that is correct."

"How are you adjusting? I imagine living in a warzone to here can be a bit difficult even after some time."

John chuckles. 'Well I sometimes I feel like I still am in one... just this one is a bit more quiet."

"Hmmm, I imagine so, going on these cases that my son likes to do, running after criminals, dodging bullets... pool explosions," she says, her tone sharpening at the last one, shooting a glance at her son.

"We had that conversation when you visited at the hospital," Sherlock says coolly.

John tries his best not smile. Sherlock is still Sherlock, even around his mother. Two individuals while similar in a lot of ways, also their own person.

"Yes, and I do believe I said that is the last time I want to see you in a hospital."

"John is good at making sure I don't need to go to one."

John shifts in his seat as he's met with another laser like gaze.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: October 1st, 2010<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard- Conference Room**

**Time: Evening**

* * *

><p>Lestrade emerges from the conference room with Donovan behind him when Caswell approaches.<p>

"Sherlock, Doctor Watson and Ms Holmes are coming."

"Thank you."

"Ms Holmes?" Donovan asks sharply, coming around to face Lestrade. "I thought you said a Ms Hadresham was coming."

"Hadresham is her professional name, the surname she taught under and what she writes her books under. Holmes is her personal surname."

Donovan doesn't look pleased with that explanation, but Lestrade doesn't need his Sergeant to be pleased, he needs her to do her job without pissing off the consultants. She's damn good at her job, but her issues with Sherlock Holmes bring out the worst qualities in her.

"So the Freak has a mother does he? Not surprised she was so cold at the crime scene then. She was cold as he is when he's around a body. Guess he got his cold blood from somewhere. "

Lestrade winces at that bold statement, knowing it was heard clearly by Sherlock, Doctor Watson and the man's mother, not to mention the other officers nearby.

"Donovan, that's enough," he says sharply.

"Psychopaths come from somewhere, Detective Inspector. I'm just stating the facts."

"Rather inappropriately too," Ms Holmes says coldly, now the three of them just three feet away. Lestrade watches as Donovan's face pales, and she turns to face the three. Sherlock, the bloody man, just smirks and walks past them, going towards the conference room, John Watson following.

"Ms Holmes-"

"Donovan is it?" The older woman clarifies interrupting the Sergeant. "Good, now I have a proper name." Her cold blue eyes rake over the Sgt. She then looks over at Lestrade. It takes his willpower, plus his training not to take a step back.

"I'm more than willing to help you decipher these messages, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and help my son help you out with catching this murderer. But first may I say your people have an appalling lack of decorum and decency apparently, and do not know how to watch what they say, especially regarding those who are willing to help the Scotland Yard," she says in a crisp, cold voice that feels like a whip. "I have to say after the Yard spent many decades fixing their reputation, to have that reputation now dented by the rather crude and uncouth comments of someone who obviously suffers from some sort of inferiority complex. To have that type of attitude in an institution like this is rather appalling and shows how low the Scotland Yard can go. I have to say I am quite ashamed. Now excuse me, I have to go look over the evidence in order to help you people take a murderer off the streets."

She brushes past the two of them, Lestrade noticing Sally Donovan looking quite shell shocked, when Ms Holmes pauses and turns back around.

"Detective Inspector I will also like to add that my help will cease if she stays on this case. Your people's attitudes are quite appalling towards those who help, and your lack of control over them is quite obvious." She turns and heads towards the conference room.

Lestrade, with the ache in his head now expanding looks back at Sgt Donovan.

He now wishes for that time turner that Hermione Granger had. It would have been quite useful.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Unknown<strong>

**Time: Evening**

* * *

><p>He rocks in his seat, watching the telly in front of him. He needs to know, the desperation deep inside, to see and to know, if the scribes have any more information.<p>

He can only see the soldiers going back and forth, and so far he has not seen the traitor. The Gods had been quite upset when they saw him, demanding his blood.

But he hadn't been able to track the traitor down. Hard to do so without a nam_e._

_HE HAS A NAME_!

The man scowls at the screech from one of the Gods.

"He doesn't go by that name you moron!" He bellows, knowing he'll pay for the rudeness later. "He goes by a different one now, just let me concentrate!"

The voices quiet and the man concentrates on the telly, listening to the scribe detail the murder that took place earlier.

Murder.

Cleansing is what it was. He was an imposter, a blasphemer, an offender who desecrated the name of Zues.

What he is doing is not murder. Not when he is guided by the hands of the Gods.

Suddenly he sees the image he saw the other night. The same man passing behind the scribe, who was replaying an earlier scene, getting into a cab.

The traitor appeared again.

The traitor that the Gods want cleansed, his blood spilt.

He must find out what name this traitor goes by, so he can find him and avenge the Gods.


End file.
